


Not Without Saying Goodbye

by FictionChroniclerNick



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Post- RE2 remake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 09:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17895704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionChroniclerNick/pseuds/FictionChroniclerNick
Summary: Following the events of the Raccoon City outbreak, three survivors find respite in a nearby motel.





	Not Without Saying Goodbye

1

THOUGH HE WANTED NOTHING more than sleep at present, he knew it wouldn’t come so easily. That was his first thought as his tattered vest fell unceremoniously on the bathroom floor.

His blood-matted blue shirt was next to go, then the white shirt drenched with mostly sweat and a little bit of blood toward the hem that only God knows came from where. Leon Kennedy looked at the bathroom mirror for a long while, dead-tired hands clutching the small sink in front of him with what little strength they had left. Even with the near-blinding bathroom lights, he barely recognized the man staring right back at him. His limbs felt like massive chunks of lead, the bandage on his shoulder needed replacing, and he never felt this damn weak all his life. The person in the mirror almost looked like the opposite: strong, stoic, battle-worn but ready to fight again at any moment.

Before three quick knocks on the run-down hotel door could finish, his Matilda was already in hand, finger away from the trigger guard, chambered and with nine rounds in his last magazine. He opened the bathroom door behind him as gingerly as possible, gritting his teeth even at the most inaudible creaking of the rusted hinges. He took three quiet strides to the door as the room wasn’t terribly large, and carefully peered through the keyhole. The hallway lights were off and there was no moon that night, but he caught a glimpse of tied-back auburn hair and a red jacket on a small frame. Few other things induced calm and safety, like an unexpected cool breeze on a torturously hot day. He caught himself staring just a tad too long at the contours of her face and opened the door.

He holstered his handgun as she entered, brown paper bags in hand.

“Sorry I took long,” she set the bags on the small table beside the wardrobe, talking barely above a whisper. “Not exactly familiar with this area and my flashlight died a couple of blocks back. How’s our Sherry?”

She laid out the supplies as quietly as she could while his brain tried to come up with something coherent. “Sleeping. Of all we’ve been through, getting her to take a shower was definitely the hardest challenge so far.”

“Really? Did you succeed?” she replied without taking her eyes off the first aid supplies.

“Nope. She went straight to bed. I was gonna take one myself when I almost passed out on that chair about after you left. I don’t know if that’s good enough to call a nap. Got up just a few moments ago.”

She turned around to face him, her expression a mixture of reproach, concern, and just a hint of I-told-you-so. He found it oddly cute. “Is this the same macho rookie cop that insisted on scouring for supplies instead of me?”

He gave her a nervous grin, “I was sincere, you know. I know you’re tough as nails, but I still don’t like the idea of you running around there on your own.”

If it weren’t for the dimly lit room with only a small window to allow some of the evening light in, he would’ve noticed the ever gentle tinge of pink blossoming on her cheeks. Claire Redfield however was quick to recover, and attended to a far more urgent matter.

“You’re beat up more badly than I thought. C’mon, let’s get you patched up.”

“Shit. You weren’t supposed to see that. Forgot I didn’t—“

“Leon, keep your voice down. And it’s fine,” she gripped his forearm, medical supplies already in tow. “From the looks of it, I don’t think you suffered anything serious, but I need better light. Now, c’mon.”

On a better day, he would’ve politely refused her help. But with the present state of his arms and the aches in places he honestly couldn’t have imagined before this mess, he doubted if he could still stitch for shit or even change a bandage properly. Reluctantly, he acquiesced and she carefully led him to the cramped bathroom. He had no idea how the hell she could be firm and soothing at the same damn time.

He clumsily sat on the toilet seat even as he leaned on her. Claire tossed out the clothes he left haphazardly on the floor and Leon felt ashamed for the second time that night. Sure, they both just came from a nightmare filled to the brim with the undead and a wide variety of other horrors, but that was hardly an excuse to be slob.

She knelt down and started with his bandage, removing the sweat-drenched, blood-caked fabric with more care than most other guys in his first aid training classes.

“I’m not sure where you got the others, but I guess this is the one you took for your lady love,” she said with a cheeky smile.

He managed a wan smile despite the memory, “In the end she saved my life. I only regret not being able to return the favor.”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she unsealed a bottle of disinfectant from the medkit. “I’m sure you did all you could. That’s not on you, Leon.”

“Yeah, I keep telling myself that. But trust me, it’s not exactly easy... Anyway, enough of that,” he was quiet for a while, and she respected the silence. “I’m sorry we didn’t find your brother. But if he’s as tough as his little sister, I’m sure he made it out of Raccoon. I mean it.”

“Brace yourself, this might sting a little,” she applied the disinfectant on a clean cloth, and pressed down. This elicited a barely noticeable twitch from Leon, but he otherwise stayed still.

“You got the bullet out, right? One less thing to worry about at least. All the same, get yourself to a hospital tomorrow,” she tidied up, neatly taping a fresh gauze pad over his wound.

“If you say so, Ma’am. Will do.”

She knelt motionless for a moment, hands on her lap and eyes missing his gaze, “I appreciate what you said about Chris. Best man I’ve ever met, and he taught me everything he felt his little sister should know,” tears shamelessly slid down her face, but her voice never wavered. “I wouldn’t have lasted an hour in this nightmare if it wasn’t for him. If I give up now, I’ll lose it, Leon.”

“I’ll help you find him. I know you’re more than capable of—“

“Leon,” she gripped his hand firmly, hastily wiping away her tears with her other hand. “You can’t. I’m leaving at the crack of dawn and someone needs to look after Sherry.”

He did his best to hide his disappointment, hoping that no twitch or subtle eye movement betrayed him. He knew she had to depart eventually, but he certainly didn’t expect this. Turns out he had precious little time left with the young woman that accompanied him out of a nightmare.

He clutched at one more straw, “If you could stay just a little longer, we can find adoptive parents with resources and good character. Of course we won’t hand her to just anyone.”

“And I have to trust you with that,” this time, there was steel in her eyes. “Trust me, if I could somehow change our predicament, I would. I’d love to spend time with her, and be a part of the process that finds her a new family. And I want to get to know more the hotshot that helped me out of this mess… But I don’t have time, and you need time to heal. Chris is still out there.”

Leon relented, committing to memory how her hand felt in his, “I understand. I hope you find your brother. Just-just look out for yourself, okay? I’m sure Sherry would love to see you again someday.”

She smiled at the thought, “And she will. I’ll only be gone for a while. Before I set out tomorrow, I’ll leave you with my phone number.”

“I’ll give you mine too. I’ll be waiting for your call, Claire. Don’t take too long.” They stayed in a comfortable silence for a moment, and Leon only then realized that he was still holding her hand. Gently, he let go of it.

He stood up slowly, “Well, I think that’s all that can be done for me right now. Thank you. If I can help you with anything, just lemme know.”

She hesitated, looking to one side, “I actually have a few nicks and bruises myself, but I can take care of most of them. I could use your help with one though,” she practically mumbled the last few words.

“Where? Let’s take a look, then. Sooner we get it cleaned, the better.”  
Hesitantly, she turned around, took off her battle-worn jacket, and hung it by the bathroom door prong. Slowly, she lifted her shirt up and started to pull it above her head until he stopped her, holding her wrist.

“You don’t have to do that. I can see the wound just fine right now,” he blurted out a little more forcefully than he intended. Embarrassment washed over both of them, more so for Claire.

“Does it look bad?” she asked hastily, brushing aside what just happened. “I have some stitches in that bag on the sink.”

He knotted his brow, not quite liking what he saw: a fairly clean diagonal cut across the middle of her back, “Good news is that it doesn’t look deep. Probably five millimeters at the most. It’s a tad long, I’d say from my wrist to my middle finger. Not bleeding that badly though. I don’t think you need stitches.”

She passed him the medical kit. “Alright then. Just clean it up for me, will you?”

“I’ll do my best,” he started with the disinfectant, and if it stung, she showed no signs of it. Never did he exercise as much self-control on anything as making sure his gaze didn’t wander to unnecessary places. The white strap of her brassiere was also rather distracting. “How’d you get this anyway?”

He quickly realized his error, making her somehow dive back into the hellish world they barely escaped. Claire however, was unfazed, “I’m honestly not sure. Probably from that time I got tossed around by our mutual, trenchcoat-clad friend. I might’ve landed on something sharp.”

“Damn,” he replied, securing her bandage. “Well, he won’t be bothering you or Sherry ever again. That much I can promise.”

She mumbled something that sounded like thanks. Just as he was finishing up, she asked, “You already know my next move. What about you? What’re your plans after finding Sherry a new home?”

The question caught him off guard, “I-I haven’t really thought about that yet. Kept thinking to myself that this is not at all how I imagined my first day on the force.” He said with an empty chuckle.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that now if…”

“No, I want to. I’ll have to eventually, and it’s good that you brought it up,” he finished with her bandage, his fingers lingering for a second more than they should have. “I could head to a different police department I suppose. Or maybe even work for the government in some regard. Huh, like that could actually happen. Wherever I end up though, I’m sure as hell not keeping my mouth shut. The world needs to find out about this. All those things we had to put down, Claire—they were once people too. This fucking virus took everything from them.”

She turned around to face him, “After I find Chris, I’ll do my part too. You have my word on that. And when we meet again, you can always count on me.”

He beamed at her, “Here’s to an ex-rookie cop and a college girl saving the world. No number of trenchcoat-wearing musclemen could possibly stop us.”

It was horrible, and she had to resist the urge to punch his injured shoulder, but a giggle escaped her anyway. She grasped his forearms, hoping that wasn’t too forward.

“Thank you, Leon. For saving my life. And for everything else. I-I’ll miss you.”

He was fresh out of coherent responses for that, so apparently the best course of action was ever so slowly leaning forward and meeting her lips with his own. It was a chaste quiet moment between friends that trusted each other with their lives, lasting no more than five seconds.

He withdrew, gauging her reaction and hoping he didn’t hurt her somehow. Her hands were still glued to his forearms, their faces were inches apart, and he couldn’t help but notice the cheeky smile and closed eyes that lit up her features. He could relish the moment and drink the sight of her for a long, long while.

He was caught off guard when she rushed forward with no hesitation, her fingers tangling in his grimy hair. Claire took the lead this time, and he found some comfort in being swept away by the tide. She was a sea that he couldn’t help but marvel at, yet not for a moment did he fear drowning.

She pushed him all the way to the shower stall wall, mouths never breaking contact, and a streak of dizzying pain shot through his shoulder, but he ignored it. Or at least as best as he could manage. He didn’t want her having both hands on the wheel though, so he gently slammed her into the adjacent wall, making an audible thud.

“Careful,” she whispered, her heartrate a little higher than normal at that point. “Let’s try not to wake Sherry. She needs to rest, and the two of you have a long day ahead tomorrow.”

He meekly rested his forehead on hers, “Don’t remind me that you’re leaving so soon. I don’t wanna deal with that right now.”

“I’ll still be here when you wake up. I won’t be gone just like that. Not without saying goodbye.”

The first, led by him, was brief and chaste and unexpected. The second, led by her, was playful and adamant. This third one was hungry, and neither could recall who started what exactly.

They started gently, pretending that the dawn would never come and that time would deign to stop for two souls that just walked away from hell on earth. His hands were steady on her waist and her fingers tangled themselves in his disheveled hair. At whatever point it started, the intensity ramped up rather quickly. She clutched his hair a little too tightly, prompting him to squeeze more firmly (or perhaps it was the other way around), eliciting a muffled cry from her. She made her way down, tracing his face, shoulders, and sides; he made his way up, fingertips brushing her arched back, bare shoulders, then her face.

She pushed him back a little, mouths briefly breaking contact, and with an impish smile grabbed the hem of her tanktop. Before Leon could protest, the fabric lay discarded on the bathroom floor and she rushed him again, pinning him against the opposite wall. What few functioning muscles Leon had left screamed for respite, much to his annoyance. Their chests were pressed flush against each other with only her brassiere in between, two puzzle pieces from different boards matching perfectly.

“Are you sure this is okay with you?” he whispered next to her ear. “I-I want this with you, but I’ve never really done this with anyone before. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

She held his gaze for a few moments, “Leon, it’s okay. You can’t hurt me.”

It took them both a bit of tinkering before his grimy tactical pants came undone, falling to the floor with an embarrassing thud. It escaped his mind that he still had some flashbangs, bulky keys (which he should’ve tossed long ago), and his nearly empty VP70 strapped to his pants. His face turned a deeper shade of red than Claire’s jacket when she glimpsed the growing bulge in his underwear. He wanted nothing more than to just vanish; she only chuckled at his mumbling. The sound of her voice left an imprint that would never quite fade in the years to come.

Her own jeans came free with deftness that impressed him, and she gracefully guided them to the chilly, tiled bathroom floor, holding both his arms—only for the rookie cop to collapse like a sack of potatoes, expletives shooting left and right. It took Claire an enormous amount of willpower to hold her laughter in, a few sniggers escaping her pursed lips.

He sat against the wall, and she settled down beside him, “That might’ve killed the mood. I’m so sorry. My back and legs absolutely feel like hell right now.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you say so?” she swept his hair aside, placing a kiss on his forehead. “If anything, this macho ‘ain’t-got-time-to-bleed’ crap of yours killed the mood. Leon, it’s good enough for me that you’re still here. Now, I think it’s time to rest.”

It took all his discipline to avert his eyes from a practically naked Claire. “Alright, thanks. I’m really not too keen on wearing my tac pants again, though. Probably has a dozen varieties of crusty, dried-up G juice.”

She thought for a moment, “You can probably sleep with a towel around your waist. At least we should look decent in front of Sherry. I’ll get some new clothes for us tomorrow. Deal? Up and at ‘em, rookie.”

She helped him up, wrapped bathroom towels around themselves, and stealthily made their way to the second empty bed. Sherry slept fitfully in the other bed, making barely audible snores. They lifted the covers and climbed in, relief instantly coursing through both their bodies. The last thing Leon remembered before drifting off was auburn hair tickling his face that vaguely reeked of dried blood, monster juice, and sweat. She smelled perfectly, with her back against his chest and one hand on her belly.

He never thought that he would have his most peaceful sleep on the evening after a nightmare.


End file.
